


Helter Skelter

by szhismine



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szhismine/pseuds/szhismine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trouble is brewing in the Commonwealth. It starts with a Raider attack and goes downhill from there. Based on the "Ghoul Squad" from tumblr, featuring mostly Original Characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encirclement

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I couldn’t include every single character everyone has made! I hope no one feels bad if I didn’t write their character, my intention isn’t to exclude anyone (and each chapter features different OCs, I tried to spread out peoples’ screen time as evenly as possible lol). This doesn’t necessarily tie-in with what other people have written/drawn, like the comic collab, a-gutter-of-ghoul’s fic etc, it’s more of a stand-alone thing. PLEASE feel free to let me know what you think, good or bad, if I write someone wrongly I really want to know so I can fix it :) All comments are welcome.
> 
> Finally, a MEGA thank you to the following people for giving me permission to write about their OCs: @a-gutter-of-ghouls, @vectober, @spacialkiwi, @dok-tah, @railroad-blues, @skizoh, @bestghoulfriends, @monstersanosa

_**Sir. They’re ready.** _

_He held the glass up, eyeing its contents carefully, before bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply  as he took in its aroma. The wine smelled sweet, but with a hint of sourness he couldn’t identify. He only took a small sip, wanting to draw out the pleasurable experience as long as possible. He didn’t often dip into his wine collection. Slowly savouring the liquid before swallowing he smacked his lips, noting the bitter aftertaste, which only added to his satisfaction. Deciding to indulge himself- today was a very special day, after all- he took a larger gulp of his drink, followed by another. He arched his head back, allowing himself a moment of  pure ecstasy. The time, money and effort he’d spent_ _carefully crafting every_ _intricate detail_ _of his plan_ _were about to pay off. He’d have no time to rest once his new world order came into fruition._

_When he finally bothered to acknowledge his henchman, his glass was dry, lips stained red from the dark wine._ _**Then let us begin.** _

*

Neal surveyed the wasteland for the fifth time this morning, lost in thought. He had been hesitant to join the small trade caravan, not wanting to leave Sanctuary. But he trusted those who stayed behind, he knew they would be safe. Besides, it didn’t hurt to get out and stretch his legs; he didn’t like being restless.  At least he had a better chance of running into his sister while he was out here. While he was working with the Minutemen in the western part of the Commonwealth, she was out east, helping the furthest settlements establish trade routes. Now he was in her neck of the woods, maybe they could meet and catch up. If he could find her.

The caravan originated from The Slog. Instead of taking its usual route it swung west to Sanctuary, where he joined them, before heading south east, stopping at several farms along the way. Last night they’d made camp at Bunker Hill, making a good bit of profit there. Now they were only a half day’s journey from Goodneighbor.  The plan was to spend a week at the eccentric town, getting some much needed supplies. He’d accompany them up to The Slog, then make his way back home. A pretty straightforward trip… he was sure _something_ would go wrong.

Excited laughter caught his attention. Looking around, he smiled as he saw Toby run up to their silent companion. “Hey Preach! I found this for you!” He didn’t see what the young ghoul was holding, but he did see Preacher accept the gift and ruffle the boy’s hat in thanks.

A sudden noise caught Neal’s attention. Instinctively he raised his assault rifle. “Hang on, guys,” he called out to the two brahmin handlers ahead of him, and they slowed down. Preacher drew his hunting knife and kept an eye on the rear as Toby froze in place. “What’s wrong?”

Neal shushed him, listening intently for any further disturbances. “Could be nothing.” But rule one of travelling the wasteland: never assume something is nothing. “Sounded like a twig snap.” The treeline to their right was sparse, but adequate for an ambush.

A burst of sudden gunfire to his left, and the two brahmin and their handlers went down instantly. Preacher reacted by shoving Toby forward, and the two crouched down behind the carcass. Neal stood his ground, returning fire into the trees. He heard a shout of pain and grinned fiercely. “We need cover!” He shouted to his companions. He didn’t have a visual on their attackers yet, but there were a lot of them, and none could aim for shit, judging by their firing pattern.

“Over there!” Toby pointed up ahead where the road connected to the main highway. The junction was littered with old rusted cars, including an overturned school bus. “Better than getting shot at in the open. Run!” Neal fired into the trees, providing cover as they made a dash for it.

Almost as soon as they began running, Neal’s gun made an ominous clicking sound. “Shit! I’m out!” He’d forgotten that he wasn’t carrying his modified rifle, which had a much larger ammo capacity. “Fuck!”

Their attackers emerged from the trees like a wave. Raiders. Everyone one of them armed to the teeth, laughing and shouting at the ghouls. “You’re in trouble now, ya filth!” One of them goaded as he led the charge, chasing after their prey.    

Neal sprinted to catch up to his companions, bullets flying past him.  He made for the nearest vehicle and dove behind it, barely missing losing his head to a shotgun blast. Toby had made it to the bus at least, but Preacher stumbled when a shot to the leg got him. He rolled behind a tree on the side of the road, out of sight.

Toby kept low behind the bus, gun in hand. The raiders formed a semi-circle around the mini auto graveyard and were closing in on them fast. “We’re in trouble!” He yelled, even though neither Preacher nor Neal were in earshot of him.

Neal cursed his bad luck. His spare ammo and extra weapons were in his pack, which was back the way they came on one of the dead brahmin. The only other weapon he had on him was…

“Got ya now, freaks!” The loudmouthed raider from before was lighting a molotov. He threw the bottle, which ineffectively smashed against the exposed underbelly of the bus, resulting in a small fire. “Well that was underwhelming,” Neal muttered to himself, even as he felt something was very wrong. _Wait…_ Vehicles this old were falling apart, their structures being corroded from two centuries of exposure and acid rain. It’s why shoot-outs on a road were never a good idea, you never knew when a fuel tank could go off. _Shit._

“TOBY! RUN!” The warning was a second too late. The bus blew apart, shooting debris and flames out in every direction. Even the raiders were knocked back by the explosion. Neal covered his head, getting pelted by rubble and metal. “Shit!” The ensuing chain reaction of explosions made him stay in place, as nearly every other car around him went up in smoke. Using the fire as cover, Neal finally emerged when the explosions stopped and sprinted to where the bus had been, calling out for his friends. “Preacher? Toby!” He coughed, covering his face to avoid inhaling the fumes. Barely able to see anything he tripped, falling face first into the asphalt. “Fuck.” He could hear the raiders already regrouping, he only had another minute or so to find Preacher and… _Toby_.

It was his prone form Neal had tripped over. His sweater was charred and stained with a spreading circle of crimson red on his chest, but what truly disturbed Neal was the ugly-looking piece of shrapnel sticking straight out of Toby’s neck. It looked deep, but there was only a trickle of blood, not the usual arterial spray from such a fatal wound, so nothing vital was in danger… yet.

Hands shaking slightly, Neal tore off his shirt sleeves. “Shit.” The kid was out cold, which was probably for the best. Last thing he needed now was to comfort someone in pain. He wrapped the sleeves around the shrapnel, careful not to touch it. Once they were tied in place he took the 10mm out of Toby’s hand and tucked it into his belt. Gently hooking his arms under Toby’s armpits, he dragged the unconscious ghoul behind the nearest car, the only one not up in flames. It was little more than a rusted skeleton, stripped long ago of any useful parts, but it would have to do.

With no sign of his other comrade and no time to look for him, Neal made a hard decision. “Preacher! Get out of here!” He wasn’t sure he could even be heard over the cacophony of burning cars, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “I’ll take Toby! Just get yourself somewhere safe!” He popped out of cover long enough to get a few shots off, drawing the raiders’ attention, before ducking back down. A hail of bullets responded, and while they were shooting he tucked the handgun back into his belt. Gently drawing Toby to him, he reached into his coat pocket. “We’re getting out of here Toby, just hold on.” His hand was wrapped firmly around a small grenade.

The shooting stopped, and a heavy silence filled the air, as thick as the smoke that billowed around them. Neal waited. He already had a good idea of their attackers’ positions, based on where the gunfire was coming from, but he needed to make sure…

There. The rustling of leather against metal, and several pairs of boots against the crumbling pavement of the road. They were converging on his location, thinking he was out of options. Their mistake.

Keeping his hold on Toby with one arm, he used his teeth to pull the pin, and after waiting for the raiders to draw even closer he released the safety lever. _One. Two. Three._ On the four he threw the grenade, as hard and as low as possible. He heard it hit the ground and bounce once before-

Neal didn’t hesitate. Before the blast wave dissipated he leapt to his feet, trying not to jostle his friend’s unconscious form as he scooped him up bridal style. He ran as quickly as he dared, his eyes always on the jagged hunk of metal still protruding from Toby’s neck. The makeshift bandage had slowed the bleeding down, but not by much. It also helped keep the shrapnel in place; one wrong movement and it could shift, causing more damage. Every minute Toby was out in the open with this injury was one less minute he might stay alive.

The way back was cut off, and regardless, they wouldn’t find any help that way. There was only one possible destination. “Hang on Toby.” Neal clutched the boy tightly. “I’m getting you to Goodneighbor.”

*


	2. Intel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing's ever simple.

“Moo.” Nudge. “Moooo.”

Groaning, Molly rolled away from the disturbance. She hated it when Carla and Carol woke her up. She hated it even more when they woke her up after a long night of walking, and she was actually sleeping soundly for once. She felt a snout nudge her again, and she bopped it gently. “Go away,” she mumbled sleepily. Instead the animal persisted, following her as she kept trying to roll out of reach, until she gave up and allowed herself to be overtaken by the stubborn brahmin.

It was a warm but cloudy day. She was just outside County Crossing, having made her camp away from the road and the decrepit buildings of the Commonwealth. Out in this part of the woods she only needed to worry about the giant bugs, which were no match for her trusty shotgun. She knew the area better than the back of her hand, which is why she found it odd that her brahmin was so agitated. Normally there was nothing to worry about. Molly cracked open an eye, peering up at her sole companion. “What is it?” she asked. The two-headed beast responded by stamping the ground with her hoof.

Sitting up, she looked around. At first glance nothing appeared to be wrong. Trusting her friend’s instincts she got to her feet, shotgun ready as she tried to detect the problem. Peering further ahead, it took several minutes before she saw… something.

About a mile away from her current position was the road, and just across from that was the National Guard Training Yard. She always kept her distance from that place, which was overrun with ferals. Shuddering, she reached for her pack and drew out a pair of binoculars. Maybe the wild ghouls were starting to spread out. If so, they would have to be dealt with. They could pose a serious danger for unaware travelers.

She hopped up onto her brahmin to get a better vantage point as she looked through her binoculars. There was definitely a lot of movement at the training yard, but it was much too organized for… “What the fuck?” It took a moment for her to understand what she was seeing.

Raiders. A _fuckton_ of raiders. Obviously they had taken care of the ferals and were now occupying the yard, but why? Raiders tended to operate in small groups, only leaving their strongholds to loot. All her years in the post-apocalypse and she’d never seen them act as a single unit before.

Molly didn’t like this. Such a large force of raiders so close to Bunker Hill and County Crossing? Not to mention the road running north led right to The Slog. They were in arm’s reach of every important settlement north of Goodneighbor. “Fuck me…” were they organizing? Planning a massive raid on the Commonwealth?

Someone had to know. This was a potentially serious problem that had to be dealt with immediately. Molly gathered her things together, considering her options. She was halfway between The Slog and Goodneighbor, but the ghoul settlement was more vulnerable. They would need more time to prepare for a possible invasion. But she couldn’t take her normal route, which ran parallel to the main road. There was a good chance raiders were patrolling. And having to care for Carla/Carol would slow her down.

“Shit.” She’d have to take the long way then; northeast to Finch Farm, then up to The Slog from there. That route worked to her advantage anyway; she’d could leave her pack brahmin at the farm, and she’d be able to swing around the Ironworks. She hated being near that place too.

“Okay then.” She took the reins in her hand and gently pulled her beast forward. “Let’s go be a fucking hero.” _I fucking hope nothing bad happens in the meantime,_ she thought.

*

Feedback is always welcome!!


	3. Nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal reaches Goodneighbor, and tries to find help

“Thanks so much Trish! You’re the best!”  
  
“No problem! Take care, and say hi to Kent for me!”

“Will do!”

Trish waved goodbye to Hugh, who was clutching the newly fixed radio to his chest. She turned to her next task, debating whether she wanted to start on the pile of broken trinkets she had on her workbench, or head over to the Rexford to work on their unreliable generator.

As she worked, surprised shouting drew her attention to the window. There was a small crowd gathering at the main gate. “Oh, the caravan!” she exclaimed. She was waiting on some parts from them, and she couldn’t wait to see Preacher again. It had been a while since she left Goodneighbor, and they had a lot of catching up to do. Skipping down the street excitedly, she paused when she heard agitated mumbling and horrified gasps. “Huh? What’s wrong?” She jumped, trying to catch a view, but everyone in front of her was too tall. Eventually the crowd parted, and suddenly she was blocking the path of two other friends. Neal was breathing heavily from exertion, his arms trembling from the weight of the unconscious ghoul in his arms.

Red. Too much red. She looked away quickly, covering her eyes. “Neal?” She asked meekly, fear consuming her. “What… where’s Preacher? Is Toby…”

Neal didn’t bother sugar-coating the situation. “Raiders. Preacher’s missing. We need to get Toby help and fast, he won’t last for much longer. Who’s the medic when Mercy’s not here?”

It took all of her willpower to stay calm. “Uh…” her mind drew a blank. “No one? Well there’s Dr. Amari, but she’s not-”  
  
“She’ll have to do.” He took off for the Memory Den. Trish followed behind him, keeping her eyes down, wiping the tears forming in them. _Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay…_

*

The door to the Den opened with a bang, startling Irma. She immediately felt for the pistol hidden under her cushion. Whoever was storming into her establishment, they were about to learn some manners. “Hey, you can’t… oh my god…” she trailed off at the sight before her. “What the hell kind of trouble are you bringing into my establishment?”

Ignoring her, Neal followed Trish as she led them down into the basement. “Dr. Amari!” she called out, voice shrill and panicked. “We need you!”

The woman looked up, eyes widening in surprise at the intrusion. “What on earth is going on here? Who are you?”

“Please, they were attacked. Can you help?” Trish stared the woman down, ready to yell at her if she refused.

Dr. Amari hesitated before answering. “I can try.” She waved Neal in. “You stay here. We need a surface to lie him on, there’s a table upstairs that’s suitable. Come with me young lady.”

*

Trish and the doctor worked quickly to get the long, bulky table into her lab. Once it was wiped down Neal gently placed his charge on its surface, careful not to jostle him. Amari immediately injected him with Med-X to sedate him. “How long has he been like this?”  
  
“We were ambushed this morning. He hasn’t woken up once. The bleeding hasn’t been too bad.”

“Hmm.” Amari carefully unbuttoned Toby’s varsity sweater, easing his arms out of the sleeves, then swiftly cut open his shirt and peeled the blood-stained fabric back, trying to be gentle as it stuck to his skin. She held her fingers against his wrist. “Pulse is weak and erratic.” She removed his hat and eye-patch before opening his good eye. “Pupil is responsive.” Next she took a pile of gauze and bandages from her shelf, applying them to the neck wound. “Several small pieces of shrapnel embedded in his chest. Larger, serrated piece of metal protruding from his neck, has not penetrated the jugular vein.” She sighed and shook her head. “Not much I can do for him, I’m afraid.”

Neal glared at the woman. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“I have some medical expertise of course, but I have no experience as a trauma surgeon. This lab is not set up for such things.” Dr. Amari placed the last of her bandages on the smaller wounds dotting Toby’s chest. “I can slow the bleeding, but that’s all. I’m sorry.”

Trish leaned over Toby, carefully covering his legs with a blanket while averting her eyes from the sight of his blood. “So you can’t do anything? He can’t just stay like this!” She was on the verge of tears again.

“My recommendation would be to take him to Diamond City, but further movement could exacerbate his injury. And regardless… they would not let any of you in.”

“Fine, then we need Mercy! We have to contact The Slog and get him down here-”

Neal snarled, banging his clenched fist against one of the memory pods. “Toby doesn’t have time for that! There has to be _someone_ around here who can help.”

Trish thought hard for a moment before straightening up. “I think I have an idea.”

*

“Double Jack on the rocks. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you darlin’.”

“Alright, well, my name is Maggie, just let me know if you need anything!”

Avery watched the waitress go. He took a small sip of his drink, sighing as the familiar taste hit his tongue. Whitechapel Charlie was kind to keep this particular brand in stock, it was one of his favourites. He had no idea how the robot kept finding bottles of the stuff. Leaning back in his seat, he put his feet up on the table. Magnolia was crooning softly on the stage, and The Third Rail’s atmosphere was relaxed and friendly. A good day for a drink. Maybe he’d even join the band after a few more.

A sudden shiver crept down his spine. Subtly shifting his gaze sideways, he could see the outline of a large shadowy figure in the corner. He didn’t have to see her face to know it was her. Charlie Mire. His least favourite of the two Charlies he knew. His fingers twitched, itching to reach for his Colt.

“OW!” A large crash made him jump in his seat, and he looked around to see Trish sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs. He winced. This wasn’t the first time she missed a step and fell, and it wouldn’t be the last. She jumped back up, ignoring the curious glances aimed at her as she strode determinedly into the room.

“Hey-” Avery tried to get her attention but she brushed past him without a second glance, which surprised him. Normally she’d greet everyone, but instead she made a beeline for one person in particular.

He watched Trish tap the waitress’ shoulder- he’d already forgotten her name- and whisper in her ear. They exchanged frantic words, and when she gasped in alarm, he was worried. Setting her tray down on an empty table she disappeared into the back room, while Trish ran up to the bartender. The robot seemed to buzz with agitation. Avery took his feet off the table and leaned forward, trying to hear what they were saying.

The waitress emerged from the back, large bag slung over her shoulder and a kit in her hand. His eyes noted the cross, a symbol he was intimately familiar with. She was carrying medical supplies, which meant someone was hurt, obviously very badly. _I have a bad feeling about this…_ he tried to bury the fear churning in his stomach. The Slog’s caravan was due to arrive around this time; it was the reason he was at The Third Rail in the first place. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but he had to be sure. Trish grabbed the waitress by the wrist and led her out.

Downing the rest of his drink he stood, intent on following them. Instinctively he glanced over at the dark corner. Charlie was still there, still watching him. She leaned into the light and he finally got a good look at her. Her face held a neutral expression, but her eyes…

Avery felt his hackles rise, which was appropriate. He was her prey, and she was toying with him. Instead of going in for the kill she seemed content to merely observe, keeping a silent but keen eye on him at all times. If her goal was to have him glancing over his shoulder every minute and spend his nights watching his door instead of sleeping, then mission accomplished. The thought crossed his mind to simply approach her, but that would only cause more problems than solve. Running would do no good either, she obviously had ways of tracking him down. So he had no choice but to wait for her to make her move.

He shook his head. “Focus,” he muttered to himself. Something was going on, and he wanted to know what. Tossing a few caps down on his table he put his hands in his pockets before casually- he didn’t want Charlie to think something interesting was happening- heading up the stairs. “Take care,” Ham said as he passed. Once he was on the street and a good distance from The Third Rail he quickened his pace, trying to catch up to the two women as they practically ran towards their destination, which seemed to be The Memory Den. Buck, who had been napping outside next to the Rail’s entrance, barked as he noticed his master run past him. Avery motioned for his dog to join him, and his reliable friend trotted along at his heels. “Trish!” he called out, making her turn. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” Trish clutched Avery’s arm and began dragging him along. “We don’t have any time to waste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is still appreciated!


	4. Reconnaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Preacher? Let's find out

Stumbling forward, Preacher suppressed a moan. The path before him was uneven, and in his current state it was hard to focus on where he was stepping; he wasn’t even completely sure he was heading in the right direction.

It was only due to his two hundred plus years of experience that he was still holding together. He hadn’t thought the bullet hole in his leg was that serious- he’d had worse- but it wouldn’t stop bleeding, and the pain slowed him down considerably. The nasty bump on his head wasn’t helping either. His memory of the fight wasn’t all there, but he did remember the massive explosions that knocked him out. By the time he came to he was alone, except for the pile of raider body parts that were scattered all over the area. No sign of Neal or Toby. He knew Neal was a practical ghoul, but Toby never would have abandoned him willfully, which either meant he had no choice or… _No. Don’t think that._

Preacher tripped again. He wasn’t sure going back to Bunker Hill was the best idea, but it was closer than Goodneighbor and he needed help, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. Besides, if Neal and Toby had escaped, surely they would have headed there. _They made it,_ he told himself again. There were no ghoul corpses among the raiders, so they had to have made it. _They weren’t caught in the explosion._ It was a mantra, like the prayers he once learned so long ago and were now almost forgotten. _They’re safe. Toby is safe._

He passed a familiar road sign and sighed in relief; he was going the right way after all. _Just a bit further…_ But his body no longer accepted his command over it, and instead of taking another step he wavered as his legs turned to jelly. Dimly he registered his knife slipping out of his grip; darkness crept into his vision, and he barely felt the impact of his knees against the ground. _Gotta keep…_ his eyes rolled back into his head.

_Toby…_ his mind wandered into his past as he lost consciousness. _Matthew…_

*

When he came to, he kept his eyes shut, willing the throbbing in his head to stop. It wasn’t as bad as before, and when he moved his leg, he felt it was wrapped in thick bandages. Someone had patched him up. Voices began drifting in and out of focus.

“When will he…”

“…he should be fine…”

Preacher reached his arm out, batting away a hand that he felt pressed against his forehead. He didn’t recognize any of the voices he was hearing around him, and he didn’t want a stranger touching him. “Hey! You’re awake?” Opening his eyes he saw the face of a human woman staring down at him, and he recoiled.

“Hey, take it easy buddy.” She backed off. “My name is Kay, I’m the doctor here. You were found unconscious about a half mile from the gate, the scouting party that found you brought you in. You lost a lot of blood and have a bad concussion. You’re lucky, if you had been left out there much longer you wouldn’t have made it.” At those words, Preacher grimaced. _And I thought Mercy’s bedside manner was terrible…_

“Wow, way to make an impression Kay,” a gravelly voice said. Looking to its source he saw a tall ghoul emerge from the shadows. “Hey, I remember you. You were with those traders last night.” Arching an eyebrow, Preacher sat up slowly. He didn’t recognize either of them from his short stop at the settlement yesterday, but then he’d spent most of his time guarding the pack brahmin with Toby.

“This is Edward Deegan.” The woman said by way of introduction. “He’s the one who found you.” Preacher grunted in thanks.

Edward tipped his cap at the man. “Not much of a talker, huh? That’s a shame, it would be a big help if we knew what you knew.”  
  
Preacher raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant. The armored man sighed at the lack of response. “We’ve spotted three different raider groups moving in these parts in the last two days. It _was_ raiders who attacked you, wasn’t it?” Preacher nodded. “It’s unusual to see so much activity from them. There’s another large group of the bastards about two clicks of here, they seem to be heading north. I was gonna go check it out. Maybe we can get an idea of what the hell is going on around here.”

That sounded bad. If raiders were planning something then others were in danger. The people of Bunker Hill were strangers to him, but the one named Edward seemed like a good man.  He pointed at his satchel next to the door, and Edward handed it to him. Fishing his notebook out, he opened it to a familiar page and held it out. The doctor read it out loud.  “My name is Preacher. I don’t talk.” She nodded. “Okay then.” She fished a pencil from her desk and handed it to him.

Preacher scribbled furiously, Edward answering his questions as they were written. “Other than the raiders I’ve seen, I haven’t heard of any other attacks. I’ll send another patrol out to watch the road south.” He squinted, trying to make out the handwriting. “You mean the others who were with you yesterday?” He shook his head. “No, no sign of them. I’m sorry.”

Preacher tore the paper from his book, crumpling it angrily. He’d been wrong, and now he was no closer to finding Neal and Toby. He had to get back out there and look for them. The next logical destination was Goodneighbor.

He struggled to his feet, keeping most of his weight on his good leg. The doctor began to object, but he glared daggers at her until she took a step back. “It’s alright Doc,” Edward spoke up. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” Kay huffed and left the two men alone. Edward watched as Preacher gather his things. “Where are you going?”

Scowling, Preacher wrote ‘Goodneighbor’ on a blank page. Edward shook his head. “That’s not wise.” He raised his hand as the deacon growled in response. “Hold on, now. I have an idea. Help me find out where that raider pack is going. Something’s up, and it could be worse than just attacking caravans.”

Preacher’s first instinct was to just shove the man out of the way and head out. But that wouldn’t be the right thing to do; if raiders were prowling the area, then Bunker Hill was in danger. And he could almost hear Toby’s voice in his head, raising objection: _We have to help them!_ Sighing, he grunted, indicating to the other man to lead the way. At the very least, he could bring news of their findings to Goodneighbor. Edward was right about one thing: something bad was going on.

*

They trailed half a mile behind the raiders, keeping low. They moved slowly, not just to avoid detection but also because Preacher’s leg was still tender. At least the doctor knew what she was doing, and he could hobble along well enough. His head still ached, but he ignored the pain, all his focus on their current task.

Edward signaled him to get down. The two ghouls shuffled on their bellies to the nearest vantage point, a small hill. When they crested it, Edward sucked in a breath at the sight below them. “Look at that.”

_National Guard Training Yard._ Last Preacher had heard it was occupied by ferals. That no longer seemed to be the case. The raiders that had attacked his caravan was the least of his worries. Preacher stared at the army of armed and angry humans milling around the yard. Some were setting up defenses, others were training. All of them looked ready for a fight. Trying to get a rough head count, he turned to his partner, holding up four fingers. Edward nodded. “Yeah, I count that many too.”

Mouth set in a grim line, Edward turned to Preacher. “Come on, we need to get back. We have to evacuate Bunker Hill.” Preacher tilted his head, receiving a shrug in response. “We’ll make for Goodneighbor I guess.” Edward patted the deacon’s shoulder. “Help us. You can come along, maybe find your friends when we get there. It’ll be safer than traveling alone.”

Preacher nodded reluctantly, knowing he was right. Together they slunk down the hill, and once they were out of sight they straightened and headed back to the way they came. Preacher was stone-faced, ignoring the pain in his leg as he was consumed with worry about his friend. _Looks like we stumbled into something big. But I’ll find you Toby. I’m on my way._


	5. Partnership

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not super happy with the pacing of this chapter to be honest, I kinda needed to compress a day’s worth of traveling/stuff to set things up for the next chapters, so sorry if it reads a little weirdly :-/ I promise that much more interesting things happen in upcoming updates!!

 

Finally spotting her destination after hours of walking, Molly’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank fuck!” She’d set a furious pace for herself, since speed was critical to her mission, but she could only do so much with a brahmin trailing behind her. The poor creature was obviously exhausted, and she rubbed their heads fondly. “Good girls,” she muttered. “You did a great job.”

In the distance she could see one of the Finch siblings, and she waved. “Hey!” she called out. He waved back and darted off. By the time she reached the farmstead, all four of the family were out to greet her. “Molly dear, what a pleasant surprise! You’re just in time, we just set up lunch for our guest, please join us.” Abigail Finch always gave her a warm welcome.

“Huh? What guest?”

A woman emerged from the shack, her black fedora barely concealing her bright red hair. Molly recognized her instantly. “Oh hey Abby.”

“Molly!” Abby gave her a giant hug, her usual way of saying hello. Molly tensed for just a moment before relaxing and hugging back. She’d only met Abby a few times, but she seemed like a good person, so it was easy to warm up to her. “So good to see you! We just got here ourselves.” Another figure emerged from the small house; Molly didn’t know him, but she recognized his Minuteman uniform. “Join us for lunch?”

“Sorry but I can’t.” She turned to Abigail. “I have to leave Carla and Carol here for a while, if you don’t mind. At the usual rate?”

“Of course dear. Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, actually there is.” She quickly explained the situation, and Abby’s eyes widened as she listened to her story. “That’s horrible, we have to let everyone know as soon as possible.” She turned to the man next to her. “Preston, get word to the Minutemen. I’ll go with Molly to The Slog.”

“Whatever you say General,” he responded, setting off almost immediately.

Molly grabbed what gear she needed, and after giving her brahmin a big hug she set off with Abby in tow. The Finches wished them luck, and Abigail packed each of them some food for the road. “We need to hurry,” Molly commented.

Abby nodded. “Right. No time to lose.”

*

Molly drummed her fingers against the barrel of her shotgun. It was almost evening now, and they were making good time. She knew the quickest route to The Slog, they were only about two hours out. A friendly silence hung between her and Abby for most of the trip, but now she was wondering if she should fill it. But she was unused to traveling with company, so she wasn’t sure what to say. Should she make small talk? Comment about the weather? Ask Abby personal questions?

“So, the raiders…” Abby took the initiative to fill in the silence. “Is it really so unusual to see them gather together like you’ve said?”

It was easy to forget that Abby wasn’t as familiar with the post-apocalyptic world as most people. “Yeah,” Molly answered. “They don’t have any kind of… uh…” she struggled to find the right word. “Overall leadership.”

“Hierarchy?”

“Yeah, that.” Molly blushed slightly. “They’re scattered all over the Commonwealth. Sometimes they’ll even fight each other for territory.”

“So someone or something is convincing them to work together.” Abby bit her lip. “We need to find out what’s going on.”

“Yeah, but first thing’s first. We need to warn everyone.” Molly sped up. “We’re almost there. Let’s go.”

*

Travis grabbed the rag next to him, wiping his oily hands on it. His rifle had been expertly disassembled, cleaned, and now put back together. Taking a deep inhale of his cigarette he stretched, admiring how the setting sun peeked out from behind the cloud cover. It had been a peaceful day for him; his time at The Slog was always relaxing. Goodneighbor was great, but often stressful. Being somewhere quiet and out in the open was like a vacation for him.

Gathering his things together into his duffle bag he started back to the main house. He hadn’t eaten yet and he could use some supper. Maybe he’d even convince Mercy to mix him that tarberry drink of his.

“Oi!”

Jumping at the sudden sound Travis spun on his heel, drawing his rifle from the bag. He had it cocked and ready to fire before he could see who had called out to him through his scope.

“Mi a kibaszott pokol…” he muttered, blushing at his reaction. Two familiar faces stared at him, a look of shock frozen on their features. He lowered his weapon, ignoring the faint tremble in his arms. “Hey, wasn’t expecting to see either of you round these parts. What’s up?”

“Trouble, that’s what’s up,” Molly answered as they approached. Abby waved timidly at him.

“Shit,” he mumbled, cigarette loosely held in his lips. “Well then, better get you to Wiseman.”

*

They stood in a semi-circle next to the tarberry plantation. Molly wrapped up her explanation, with occasional input from Abby. Wiseman, Mercy, and Travis listened intently, each of them with crossed arms and worried looks on their faces.

“The Training Yard is near County Crossing and Bunker Hill,” Mercy mumbled, stroking his chin in thought. “They have to be warned about this.”

Wiseman lowered his head. “No need.” He sighed and looked at their two guests. “Just before you arrived I got off the radio with Bunker Hill. Their own people have already scouted the Yard. Apparently more and more raiders are amassing by the hour. They counted at least four hundred already gathered.”

“Fuck.” Mercy lifted his aviators and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I didn’t even know there were that many of the bastards out there.”

“Something’s going down.” Travis thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Scouting, raiding parties, organizing. Definitely the first steps of an invasion. The question is, what will their target be?”

“Bunker Hill is the closest major settlement, that would be the logical choice. They’re getting ready to evacuate to Goodneighbor,” Wiseman answered.

“But why launch a full-scale assault? No offense to them, but it would take less effort than that to take the Hill.” Travis knew the layout of their defenses; they were good, but sheer numbers would overwhelm them easily. Four hundred was just overkill.

“They might make for Goodneighbor and Diamond City next, it’ll take a lot of raiders to storm them,” Molly suggested.

Travis shook his head. “If that’s true, those places are in trouble. Neither have radio transmitters equipped for two-way communication. Goodneighbor won’t even know they’ve got a full settlement of people heading their way until they’re already there.”

“The Minutemen will be mobilized as soon as possible,” Abby countered.

“The Minutemen are still rebuilding their numbers, they won’t be enough. We have to get all the local settlements involved to even stand a chance.” Travis sighed as he tried to form a plan of action. “Some of us can head down, do some scouting, try to get to Goodneighbor.”

Wiseman shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but… there’s also been increased activity at the Ironworks recently.”

“God damnit,” Mercy cursed. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” He poked Travis in the chest. “And when the hell are you gonna fix those turrets?”

Abby shifted on her feet nervously. “Could the raiders and Forged be allies? Do they have a history of working togther?”

“The Forged are an offshoot of the raiders,” Mercy explained. “Not exactly friendly, but I don’t think they’re enemies either. So it’s possible.”

“I don’t know how we’d fight off both groups at once. We need to find out what the Forged are up to. Maybe we can reason with them, convince them not to work with the raiders.” Abby was met with skeptic glances from everyone except Wiseman, who held her gaze until she blushed and looked away. “What?” she asked defensively.

“I think I have an idea,” he replied.

*

Please leave comments/kudos!


	6. Treaty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and Molly go to the Ironworks. What will they find there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a new character in this chapter, he's basically just an NPC I created to advance the plot ;) His presence will be explained later on ;)

Abby and Molly stared at the giant factory looming in the distance. It was well past sunset, but the ominous lighting of the Saugus Ironworks was a beacon in the darkness of the wasteland. Abby’s night vision was better than her companion’s, but even she couldn’t spot the guards she knew were lurking beyond the industrial yard’s fence.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Molly asked, whispering as she tried to listen for any hint of an ambush. She wasn’t used to being so close to the Ironworks without hiding and sneaking by.

“Uh, no?” Abby shook her head. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea… Cory would be better at this than me.” What they were about to do required nerves of steel and a cool head; Abby wasn’t sure she had either.

“Well Cory’s not here, you are.” Molly punched Abby’s shoulder lightly. “You got this.” She sounded more confident than she felt.

It was a straightforward plan: meet with the Forged leader, and convince him to help them fend off the raiders. Abby glanced down at the piece of fabric clenched in her hands. It was a dirty white cloth- looked like it used to be a tablecloth- with a black X crudely drawn on it. She had no idea what it meant; when Wiseman handed it to her, he merely said that it would get her a face-to-face meeting with the Forged leader. There were no guarantees to their safety, but it increased their odds… somehow. She really wished she knew how a tablecloth was supposed to keep them alive. She just had to trust that Wiseman had earned his name over the years.

“You should go back,” Abby said. Her voice shook, and she tried to convince herself it was due to the cold nighttime air. “I’ll be fine.” There was no way of knowing how the Forged would react to their presence; their go-to strategy was to flambé first, ask questions later. She didn’t want anyone else in harm’s way if Wiseman’s tenuous plan didn’t work.

“Yeah right. I’m not letting you go in there alone.” Molly wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, not even a possibly suicidal one. Especially not when a friend was facing the same risk.

“If something goes wrong you could get hurt.”  
  
“If something goes wrong _you_ could get hurt,” she retorted.

Abby sighed, knowing the stubborn ghoul wouldn’t listen. “Fine… just stop copying me.” She started up the overgrown path towards the factory.

“Stop copying me,” Molly muttered under her breath as she followed the woman up the path.

They’d only walked a few minutes when two men jumped them. They were each fully armed, dressed in patchwork metal armor, their faces covered in soot and dirt. “You’re trespassing,” one of them growled. Molly could feel the heat emanating from his weapon as aimed it directly at her.

“Wait!” Abby and Molly both dropped their guns and raised their arms, and Abby waved the piece of fabric she was holding. “We just want to talk to your leader.” She was poised to make a run for it if they said no, even though she knew she couldn’t outrun a flamethrower.

The two men paused and glanced at each other, like neither knew how to respond. Finally one of them shrugged. “Boss’ll sort it out.”

“Fine.” The other disarmed them, poking Molly in the pack with his flamer as he circled her. “But if they cause trouble, I have dibs on this one.” It was only a warning look from Abby that kept her from tackling the bastard. Instead she allowed herself to be taken into the factory.

*

Heat and steam rose from the machinery around them, and within minutes they were drenched in sweat. Abby squinted, trying to avoid the glare caused by the vats of molten iron on either side of the walkway. Despite the sheer size of the building she felt closed in, trapped. She’d never been inside a factory like this back in the day; she could only assume it didn’t look much different from pre-war times, but she recognized a surreal, almost savage quality to it that could only be recent. The wasteland had that effect: streets or parks or buildings she was once familiar with were now unrecognizable, tainted by age and war. She almost wished she could have seen what this factory was like before the war; she felt it was her duty to remember how the world used to be. Molly and all her other ghoul friends had had time to adjust and watch the world change, and they adapted as it did. She was just… a woman out of time.

Jeers and taunts followed them as other members of the Forged gang watched the scene unfold from their perches on the railings and walkways above them. Molly counted at least thirty men and women. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the uncomfortable humidity and the guns pointed directly at her. _If this doesn’t work, we’re dead._

“Silence!” Before them a lone man stood, imposing and fierce. He was wearing an incomplete suit of power armor, and dark soot was smudged across his eyes and forehead. Abby couldn’t help but be impressed at his flair for the dramatic, he was like a modern-day Silver Shroud villain. She was tempted to don the hero’s voice and persona to match the current aesthetic, but that probably wouldn’t go over well with him, so she pushed that thought out of her mind.

“My name is Rage,” the leader shouted in his booming voice. “After my… predecessor met an unfortunate end I rose from the ashes to lead my people to glory. Now…” he took a few heavy steps towards his captives. “Why have my men brought you to me instead of killing you?”

The one guarding Abby held up the cloth she’d used. Taking it, Rage inspected it before smirking and tucking it into his armor.

“Alright, you have my attention. Speak. And when we’re done you can tell that ‘Wiseman’ of yours that we’re even.”

The two women exchanged startled glances. “What does it mean?” Molly asked, curiosity getting the better of her. 

“That’s an interesting story… for another time.” Rage began to pace back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. “The real question is, why use it to meet with me tonight?”

Abby took a small step forward, clearing her throat as she tried to project her voice as loudly as possible. “We’re here to talk about the raiders who are gathering at the National Guard Training Yard.”  Curious murmuring arose around them. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of her face, but she resisted the urge to wipe it away. “You know about that, don’t you?”

Rage rolled his shoulders, giving her a dirty look. “Yes. We have been aware of their movements for a while now.”

“And… are you working with them?”

“Ha! Work with them?” The men and women around them booed and hissed at that, and he waited until they calmed down before continuing. “No. It’s true we were once raiders, but they are not as iron-blooded as we are. They are weak. We consider them scum, as worthless as your freak friends at the Swamp.”

Molly snarled at him. “It’s The Slog, you piece of sh-”  
  
“Quiet,” Abby whispered, elbowing her friend. “Now’s not the time.”  

Rage ignored the outburst. “We don’t know what they’re planning, but it’s some kind of power grab. My guess is they want control of this little corner of the Commonwealth. Ambitious, but doable with the numbers they have.” He grimaced. “And we don’t want to see that. We have our own plans, and they do not involve sharing power or getting wiped out by those assholes.”

“So we both want the same thing: to stop the raiders.” Hope surged through Abby, but it was quickly squashed when he shook his head.

“A recent attack has… set us back. We need to rebuild our ranks. We are all warriors, but even we would stand little chance against a raider party of that size.”

Molly rolled her eyes. _What a bullshit excuse._ The Slog had half their numbers, and most of its residents wouldn’t be considered fighters, but even they were willing to take on the raiders if necessary.

Abby bit her lip, unable to hide her disappointment. “Okay…” She was sweating profusely under her trench coat, and she loosened her scarf slightly. “Then can you at least guarantee my people’s safety while we try to deal with this?”

At this, Rage laughed. “You want me to let your band of ghouls move about however they want? Is this a distraction to set up an assault on our fortress? I don’t think so.”

“Oh fuck this!” Frustrated, Molly marched forward, pointing a finger at the uncooperative leader, ignoring Abby’s attempts to shush her.  “Now listen here you fucking pyromaniacs. We actually have a common goal for once, no one wants raiders to take over the wasteland. Stop being a bunch of pansy-ass cowards hiding behind your flamethrowers and _do something about it!_ ”

Angry roaring rose around them as the Forged brandished their weapons and several took a few steps towards the women. Abby squeaked in fear as she reached for her gun, forgetting it wasn’t on her. When her hand felt only air she compensated by raising clenched fists and trying to put an intimidating scowl on her face. Rage raised an arm, and the others quieted down immediately.

“You’re an annoying little firecracker,” he commented as he stared at Molly, who appeared unfazed by the disturbance she caused. “But you’re also right.” Several men raised objection but he yelled at them. “Will you allow a ghoul to call you all cowards?” They fell silent, and Rage looked at Abby. “Very well. My men will guard the main road against an attack while your people shore up their defenses. And we will let them pass through unhindered when they make their move against the raiders.” He bared his teeth. “But hear me, _girls_. The moment this threat is dealt with, our little alliance ends. We will no longer guarantee the safety of your people or your settlements. You are less of a threat to us than the raiders. We don’t need to wait, we can wipe you out whenever we want.”

“Obviously we’re enough of a threat if you need us to ward off the raiders for you,” Abby snapped without thinking. The leader regarded her for a moment before laughing again. “Maybe,” he answered, waving his hand. Immediately two of his men flanked Abby and Molly. “But that is a debate for another time. Be on your way now.”

“Fine.” Abby agreed, her voice somehow holding steady. The guards primed their flamers, pointing them at the two women as their weapons were returned, before turning to leave.

“Wait.” Rage approached Abby, taking out an item from within his armor. “We stumbled upon one of their scouting parties two days ago and wiped them out. We found this on one of their men. Maybe you can make some sense of it.” He handed her a wrinkled piece of paper, then leaned in close so the others couldn’t hear him. “And tell Wiseman I will honour our agreement.” With that they were dismissed, escorts following them closely.

*

Only when they were halfway back to The Slog and sure they weren’t being followed did they stop running. “Holy shit,” Abby gasped, doubling over. “I was sure that wasn’t going to work.” A hundred questions floated in her head, but none had any answers. Composing herself, she glanced down at the piece of paper in her hand.

“Yeah. Lucky for us they’re too dumb and lazy to do their own legwork.” Molly looked over Abby’s shoulder. “So what did he give you?” She read the words scribbled on the note, frowning. “What’s it mean?”

Abby’s hand shook as she read the note. “I don’t know… but it can’t be good.”

A red heart was drawn on the bottom half of the sheet, and written just above it, also in red: **Pickman was here. Find me if you dare.**


	7. Battle Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toby's wounds get tended to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I don’t know anything about trauma surgery or radios. Most of this chapter is actually inspired by an episode of X Company (a Canadian show). If anything is inaccurate… too bad ;)

 

Neal paced back and forth, arms behind his back as he watched the others work. “I don’t like this,” he hissed.

“You don’t have to like it,” Dr. Amari answered tersely as she finished sanitizing the medical equipment that was set up. “But it’s what needs to be done.”

Avery stood next to the makeshift operating table, hand on Toby’s arm in a comforting gesture, more for his sake than the unconscious boy’s. He desperately wished it was Mercy doing this, not a doctor who wasn’t really a doctor and some waitress with informal nurse training. “And you’re absolutely sure you’re right about that?”

Amari pursed her lips, looking over at Maggie, who was tying her half-head of hair into a side-bun, after which she tightened her apron around her waist. The young woman sighed as she explained the situation again. “That shrapnel is dangerously close to his jugular vein. If it shifts even a little, it could slice it. There wouldn’t be any way to save him from that.” She rolled up the sleeves of her large sweater and began washing her hands in the basin of water next to her.

Avery sighed. “So it needs to come out.” He didn’t like the face she made. “What? What is it?”

Maggie nodded. “Yes, we have no choice but to remove it. However, removing it could sever the vein as well.”

Neal cursed as he removed his heavy trenchcoat, feeling much too warm in the small room. “Can’t we leave it until-”

“No,” Maggie interrupted. “In fact we’ve left it in too long already. Infection and blood poisoning are both possibilities right now.”

“Can ghouls even _get_ blood poisoning?” The question was laced with thinly-veiled skepticism. Neal had little faith in her abilities; he didn’t even know what her abilities were.  

Ignoring the tone, Maggie answered his question as professionally as she could. “I honestly have no idea, but are you willing to stake his life on it?”

Avery rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah but…” he shook his head. He didn’t really have a way to finish that sentence; he just didn’t like the thought of what was about to happen.

Maggie dried her hands as she looked around the room. “Look, I know you care for- sorry, what’s his name?”

“Toby.” Trish answered quietly. She hadn’t moved from her position near Toby’s feet, refusing to look at anything that was happening. Medical procedures weren’t new to her; she’d been in Mercy’s care more times than she could count. But seeing one of her closest friends in this position… she just couldn’t stomach it.

Maggie’s voice softened. “Toby. Look, I can see how much he means to all of you. Doing this is a risk, but it’s also the least risky option we have. And I do know what I’m doing.” Her time at Diamond City’s clinic had not been in vain.

With no more objections, a grim silence hung in the air. There was nothing left to do but get started. “Everyone ready?” she asked.

Trish gulped nervously. “Maybe?”

Dr. Amari reached over and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to stay for this?”

“He’s my friend,” she answered stubbornly. “I want to help.”

“I gave him another dose of Med-X, but this is still going to hurt him. He might wake up. If he does, try to keep him calm, but you _must_ keep him still. Understand?” When everyone nodded, Maggie squared her shoulders and positioned herself at the head of the table. “Okay. Hold him down.”

Trish and Neal draped themselves over Toby’s legs, while Avery and Dr. Amari stood on either side of the table, pressing down on his arms. Grabbing a large set of pliers that Trish had provided, Maggie positioned them halfway down the piece of metal sticking out of Toby’s neck, fiddling with the adjustment screw so that the grip was as tight as possible. Any slip or unexpected shift, and her patient would be dead.  

Steadying herself with a deep breath, she started to pull. The shrapnel resisted slightly, so she put a bit more force behind her tugging, and slowly it began to slide out. _No sign of further trauma_ , she thought as she carefully extracted the piece of metal. _So far so good…_

A sharp gasp from Toby startled everyone. “Keep him still,” Maggie snapped, pausing due to his sudden movements. Dr. Amari put most of her weight on his torso, careful to avoid the wounds on his chest.

Toby’s good eye opened, darting around as he took in his surroundings. “Wha…”

“Hey kid,” Avery mumbled soothingly, holding his hand tightly. “We’re takin’ care of you. Just try to relax.”

“N-no…it hurts…” Maggie braced herself as she started pulling on the protruding piece of metal again, harder than before. There was no time to sedate him or be gentle; she had to finish what she started. “Lemme go…. no…” Toby tried to wriggle free, but he was being held too tightly, and he was too weak. “St-stop! Please!” He cried out in pain.

“It’s okay Toby,” Trish piped up from where she was holding his legs. Her head was turned away so she couldn’t see the extraction. “Hang on. We’re helping you.” Her voice wavered; no one could see the unshed tears in her eyes.

“Keep your eye on me Toby,” Avery encouraged. “It’s almost over.”

“I’m sorry,” Maggie whispered, trying to ignore the way Toby screamed as she finally pulled the shrapnel out, dropping it on her tray and inspecting the gaping hole in his neck carefully. “No bleeding,” she announced after a moment. “I think he’ll be alright.”

There was a collective sigh of relief, and Avery squeezed Toby’s hand. “Good job kid,” he said affectionately. “Now you’ll have another scar to show off.”

“I don’t need ‘nother scar…” he mumbled, trailing off as he suddenly went limp.

“Toby?” Worried, Maggie patted his cheek. “Hey, stay with me.” She smacked his face lightly, trying to get him to wake up. 

“What’s wrong?” Neal asked. Toby was passed out cold, and looked extremely pale. Even he could see that his chest was barely moving. Feeling for his pulse, Maggie cursed. “What’s happening?” he asked again as she scrambled through her medkit.

“It’s the shock.” She grabbed a Stimpak. “His heart is failing.” Raising it high she stabbed it into his chest and hit the plunger. Trish screamed, and even Avery looked away, disturbed at the imagery. Toby jerked, and with a strangled yell his eye opened again. He coughed as he struggled to suck in air.

Dr. Amari placed a cool cloth on his forehead. “It’s okay Toby, just take deep breaths. You’re doing great.”

It took several minutes before Toby’s breathing returned to normal and his wounds could be dressed. He was now stable, conscious but sleepy. Trish and Avery talked to him quietly, while Neal walked over to Maggie and Dr Amari, who were cleaning up. “Now what?” Watching what had just happened to Toby unsettled him, made him impatient to get back out to the wasteland and… do something. Hurt someone. Anything was better than just standing around.

“We need to make sure the wound isn’t infected, and his body needs some time to recuperate. Assuming there are no complications I’ll be able to remove the smaller metal shards in his chest and then stitch everything up. He’ll need several days of bed rest but I think he’ll be okay.” Maggie dried her hands. “We’ll keep him here for now, he shouldn’t be moved just yet. I’m sure we can find a place for him to recover.” She smiled. “All of you did a great job helping, thank you. I’ll stay with him for a bit, you guys can go get some rest.”

“Not yet.” Neal shook his head. “We need to make sure the fucks who did this are taken out. There’s obviously a very active raider group in the area, and I don’t know if I got all of them. They might still be setting up ambushes for other caravans.” He wouldn’t rest until he was sure every last one of them was put down.

“You’re right.” Avery walked over to them. “We need to finish them off, and get word to the others. And I think Mercy should get down here as soon as he can to check up on Toby. No offense Maggie.”

The waitress arched an eyebrow. “None taken…”

“Wait.” Dr. Amari put her hand up, interrupting them. “You have no idea if it’s safe to head out. You just said they might be setting up more traps.”

“What choice do we have?” Avery raised his voice slightly. He couldn’t just stand around cooling his heels while raiders or worse attacked his friends.

“Don’t you have a way of contacting any of the other settlements? Radio?” Neal asked.

“No,” Trish answered from her position next to Toby. “Goodneighbor doesn’t have a radio communication system. The transmitter is too small and we just don’t have the equipment. I’ve been bugging Mayor Hancock to get us the parts, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”  
  
“But we do have a communication system, don’t we?” Maggie asked. “Kent’s. He uses it for his Silver Shroud broadcasts.”  
  
“Yeah but the range barely goes beyond the walls,” Trish replied. “And he doesn’t have a receiver.”

“Can you build one? Or at least boost the signal so we can send a message?” Neal asked.

“Well…” she scratched her head. “Maybe. I’d need a lot of parts.”

“I’ll get you what you need,” Neal said, already reaching for his trenchcoat.

“Okay. You and Trish go see Kent and see what you can do with his radio. I’ll… stay with Toby for now.” With nothing to do, Avery could at least keep his friend company.

“So will I.” Maggie squeezed Dr. Amari’s arm. “Thanks again for letting us use this space for him.”

“Sure. Take as long as you need. I have to go check on some customers.” She excused herself from the room.

“Get some sleep,” Trish ordered, giving her injured friend a gentle hug. “We’ll be right back. Kent’s room is just upstairs.” Neal followed her out, but not before rubbing Toby’s head affectionately.

Toby blinked slowly, watching his cowboy friend collapse into the chair next to him. “Avery…?”

“Hush kid,” he replied, squeezing his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

“Kay.” The boy was out almost instantly.  

Avery’s mouth quirked into a small smile. He had the feeling no one would be sleeping that easily in the days to come.


	8. Head Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience and the support! Hope you guys are still along for the ride. Things are gonna get pretty interesting here on out… (though nothing much happens in this chapter tbh)

“Pickman…” Travis shook his head, handing the note back to Molly. “Nope, haven’t heard of him.”

“None of you have heard this name before?” Abby asked. Everyone present shrugged. Mercy rubbed the back of his neck as he considered the name; there was a vague sense of familiarity about it, but he couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was nothing.

Wasting no time, Wiseman had called a meeting as soon as he saw the two women returning from the Ironworks. Mercy had emerged from his clinic, medical bag in hand, but was surprised to see that he didn’t need it; Abby and Molly were tired, but unscathed. Now they were recapping their meeting and trying to make sense of the cryptic message they’d been given.

“Hang on, before we get into this, I need to ask something.” Molly stepped forward, hands on her hips as she frowned at Wiseman. “That flag or whatever you gave us. It got us in, got us a deal and got us out, and not a single shot was fired. The Forged aren’t known for being friendly, and they sure as fuck never showed us any courtesy before. Wanna explain how we were able to make a truce with them in the first place?”

“I’d rather not,” he replied. A hint of sadness passed over his face, and Abby wondered why. Although Rage had seemed reluctant to help, his last, hushed comment to her made her think otherwise. He had a reputation to protect in front of his men, so he had to appear unwilling to cooperate… but what was his connection to the ghoul leader? _I guess we’ll never know,_ she thought as the man stayed silent.

It was an unsatisfying answer, but no one was willing to force the issue. Molly ground her teeth and moved on to her next question. “Also, he mentioned a predecessor and a recent attack. Do you know what he was talking about?”

At that Mercy chuckled, and pushed his aviators up to keep them from slipping down. “That was Cory,” he said with a smirk. “She rescued one of the Finch boys and took out Slag and most of his men. Shame she didn’t get all of them though.”

Abby gulped nervously; they were lucky the Forged hadn’t simply retaliated against them. “Ha, good thing it _was_ you and not Cory then, eh?” Molly nudged Abby with her elbow, laughing.

“Let’s get back to the matter at hand, shall we?” Wiseman suggested.

Travis took the note again, inspecting it more closely as Mercy leaned casually against the wall. “Are we sure it even has anything to do with the current situation?” the medic asked.

“But it… looks like it was written in… blood.” Abby shuddered. When she’d finally figured out why the letter was so disturbing to her she passed it over to Molly, nausea threatening to overwhelm her the whole walk back to the settlement. She wanted nothing more than to have a good long scrub; she kept wiping her hands on her coat, trying to get the feeling of _wrongness_ off her skin.

Molly snatched the note back from Travis and waved it in Mercy’s face. “Yeah, this is fucking creepy. No one this fucked would leave a note like this behind for fun.”

“Every psycho out there thinks he’s important enough to have a business card,” Mercy commented. “It doesn’t have to mean something.”

Wiseman sighed. “Well, let’s think this through. Why would the raiders have this on them?”

Abby thought hard for a minute. “They might have found it when they were out scavenging. Maybe it was a random find, or a note for them specifically. Or they were going to deliver it to someone on Pickman’s behalf.”

“No…” Travis spoke up. “I think the message was for the raiders.” The others looked over at him, and he shrugged. “Maybe this is why they’re banding together, to take out this Pickman guy. He’s a threat to them.”

Mercy was unconvinced. “Four hundred raiders against one guy? That’s a bit melodramatic.”

“We assume it’s one guy. What if he has an army of his own?” Travis asked.

“And where is his army hiding, huh? Boston isn’t that big.” Molly crossed her arms. “How would a guy we’ve never heard of be able to recruit an army without anyone noticing?”

“It’s just a theory,” Travis replied defensively.

“It’s a stupid theory.”

“Okay, hang on a minute.” Wiseman raised his voice slightly, stopping any further interruptions. “We need to focus. Our main priority is the raider army; what should we do about them?”

“We can’t just abandon The Slog,” Mercy said. “Most of us need to stay, just in case anything happens.” He didn’t trust the temporary truce; the Forged had been antagonizing them for years, they wouldn’t suddenly stop. It would be just like them to strike when the settlement was vulnerable.

“Of course,” Wiseman agreed. “I will remain here, with the farmers and the young ones. What about the rest of you?”

“We need to get to Goodneighbor,” Molly said. “That’s where everyone else will be, and we can plan our attack there. We can take the back roads so we don’t have to get too close to the Training Yard.”

“I’ll get on the radio,” Wiseman said. “If Bunker Hill hasn’t been evacuated yet, I can let them know you’re on the way and warn them about this Pickman. Maybe someone there will have heard of him. You guys should head out as soon as you can. Traveling at night might actually be safer, you’re less likely to be spotted. And time is a factor here.”

“Yeah, yeah. No rest for the wicked.” Molly winked at Abby, who gave her a timid smile in return. She really wanted to lie down and sleep for a few hours, but there was no time for that. “It’s gonna be a long night,” she replied.

“I’ll make sure the defenses are working properly before we head out,” Travis muttered quietly. He didn’t like the idea of getting involved in a potential battle, but he couldn’t just stay and pretend nothing was happening. He had a duty to his friends, and he’d uphold it, no matter what.

“And I’ll get my stuff ready,” Mercy announced, already turning towards his clinic. If there was going to be a fight in the days ahead, his expertise would be needed. As a combat medic, he knew exactly what they might expect in terms of casualties, injuries, and fatalities. Back in the day, it was easier to stay objective; his military and medical training had instilled a strict professionalism in him. Now, two hundred years later, with his closest friends facing danger on a near-daily basis, it was harder. When it came down to it he always kept a cool head, but in the meantime… he worried. He didn’t _like_ being needed in his capacity as a doctor.

Making sure he was alone, he took off his trademark hat and gently patted the back of his head, making sure his bandages were still clean and in place. Satisfied he grabbed his vest and jacket, and after dressing he quickly gathered everything he might need, including his new defibrillator, a gift from a man he’d helped out a while back. Backpack full of equipment, he put all his extra supplies in a duffle bag, which he also slung over his shoulder. The weight didn’t faze him much, again due to his training. By the time he emerged the others were waiting for him, all burdened with guns, ammo, and food and water.

Mercy surveyed the rag-tag group as he reached into his pants pocket, drawing a cigarette and a matchbook. The tiny flame from the match reflected in his glasses as he lit up, taking a deep inhale. The stale taste of tobacco was oddly soothing. “Let’s do this.”


	9. Hit and Run

On the main level of the Memory Den, Trish stood at the door of Kent’s room, with Neal next to her. She knocked and waited for an answer before entering. “Come in!”

Kent was sitting at his tiny desk, and Hugh was there as well, waving from his seat on the couch. Several piles of comic books and novels were strewn about the room. “Oh hey guys,” Kent greeted cheerfully. “Are you here for the Silver Shroud comic exchange?”

“Uh, no,” Neal answered, trying to not let his irritation show. “We need your radio.”

“Huh?” Kent reflexively put a hand on the device. “Whaddya want it for?”

“We need to modify it into a two-way,” Trish said, and quickly gave them an overview of the situation.

“Well, if you think you can… are you sure you won’t break it? I need this radio for my Silver Shroud broadcasts.”

“Don’t worry Kent,” Trish reassured him, “I’ll make sure it still works exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

“Yeah, she fixed up my radio earlier, it works just like new,” Hugh added. “It’ll be fine. And it’s for a good reason.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Kent agreed reluctantly. “The Silver Shroud would help you guys, so it’s fine by me.”

Trish began inspecting the device, muttering to herself while she considered the best way to modify it. While she was doing that, with input from Kent, Neal sank onto the empty spot on the couch, suddenly finding it hard to stay on his feet. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. The adrenaline from the day’s had worn off, and he was tired. So tired.

“Hey, you okay?” Hugh asked him quietly. “You look like you’ve been through hell, you could probably use a nap or something. I have a bed at a friend’s place, you can use it if you need to.”

“No,” he answered gruffly. “Thank you,” he added. _Can’t sleep. Not yet._

Neal sat in silence, occasionally casting curious glances at the comics Hugh was sorting through, until finally Trish came up to him with a piece of paper. “Okay, I’ve written down what I need for this to work. I have most of this stuff in my workshop, Daisy can help you find everything else at her store. Know what you’re looking for?”

He read through the list. “Yeah. No problem.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Hugh pointed out. “Daisy’s definitely in bed by now.”

Neal scowled as he stood. “Then I’ll wake her up.”

*

It only took an hour for Neal to collect what they needed, and then there was nothing for him to do while Trish and Kent worked on the radio, so he sat on the couch, finally giving himself a moment to relax. He dozed off, only waking up some time later when a shout startled him. “We got it!” Trish exclaimed. “Well, sort of. Range is still a problem. We definitely can’t reach The Slog.”

“Shit…” Neal stood, taking a moment to stretch and rub his eyes. “Well who can we reach, then?”

“I don’t know, I’m not picking up any other signals yet. I- wait…” Kent adjusted his headset, grabbing his microphone and holding it up to his mouth. “Hello?” The others gathered around him as he listened. “Bunker Hill, this is Kent Connolly in Goodneighbor, can you hear me?” Neal leaned against the desk, trying to hear what was being said by the person on the other end.

“Yeah… well we don’t, we only just scrapped something together. There’s… oh, well we’re not with the mayor at the moment. We can go get him though-”

_Don’t have time for niceties._ Neal whipped the headset off of Kent’s head and snatched the microphone from his hands. “This is Neal. Who am I speaking to?”

“Hello Neal,” a familiar voice greeted. “This is Edward Deegan. We met when you stopped by the settlement last night.”

“Yes, I remember you.” He felt relieved. “We were attacked by raiders on our way down to Goodneighbor.”

“Yeah, your man is here, Preacher? He’s been anxious to head out. He’s been worried about you and that kid, Toby. You guys alright?”

Neal paused before answering. “We’re both alive,” he said very carefully.

Edward understood what wasn’t being said. “Okay, I’ll let him know.” He gave Neal a full run-down of the situation. Neal listened in stoic silence, but rage boiled within him as the big picture became clearer to him. When Edward finished his report, he sighed. “So that’s that. We’re about to head out for Goodneighbor now, with our caravans it’ll take us almost a full day to make the walk.”

“At nighttime? Is that wise?”

“We just can’t risk waiting around to be attacked, and we’ll have more cover in darkness. You should know we’ve also gotten word from The Slog, some of their people are heading down to lend a hand against the raiders. They have some intel that could help us. Apparently someone named Pickman might be involved in all this. Don’t know who he or she is, but we’re spreading the name around until we find someone who’s heard of them.”

“Pickman?” Neal turned to the others. “Any of you recognize that name?” They all shook their heads. “Alright, we’ll look into it on our end. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll ask the mayor to send a few guys out to meet with your people, just in case. Take care of yourselves.”

“Will do. This is Bunker Hill signing off.”

Taking off the headphones Neal handed everything back to Kent, and began to pace as he considered the information he’d just heard. “This is bad. Things are even worse than we thought.” He looked down at Trish. “Come on, let’s get back to the others.”

“I’ll stay by the radio,” Kent said. “In case anyone else tries to contact us.”

*

Back downstairs, Neal filled Avery and Maggie in on what they missed. Toby was still sound asleep, thanks to another dose of MedX. The cowboy perked up when Neal finished describing the conversation he’d had with Edward. “Pickman? As in the Pickman Gallery?”

“You’ve heard the name before?” The sooner they got to the bottom of this mystery, the sooner the raider threat could be dealt with.

“I have, yeah.” Avery adjusted the brim of his hat. “We need to bring this info to Hancock. He needs to know about what’s been goin’ on. And he can fill you in on Pickman.”

“Toby will be out of it for a while,” Maggie said, suppressing a yawn. “It should be safe to move him somewhere more comfortable now, but we have to do it carefully.”

“Where should we put him? Goodneighbor doesn’t have anything like an infirmary, and the Rexford will be full of refugees soon.”  
  
“We can take him to The Third Rail,” Maggie suggested. “Put him in my room until we figure something out. And there’s plenty of space there for the people from Bunker Hill, if they need it.”

“Alright. We’ll make some kind of stretcher and carry him there, then we can go to the State House and talk to the mayor.” Avery put his hand on Trish’s shoulder. “You’ve done enough for today, darlin’, thank you for helping out.” He looked at Maggie. “And thank you for savin’ Toby’s life. Will you keep an eye on him?”

The young woman nodded. “Of course I will. He’s still my patient, after all.”

*

Avery and Neal climbed the spiral stairs of the State House until they reached the landing that the mayor’s office was on. A single guard was on duty, and he glared at the two intruders. “We need to talk to the mayor,” Neal announced.

“Are you crazy?” The grunt waved him away. “It’s the middle of the night, boss is not to be disturbed. Come back in the morning.”

Neal’s hand curled into a fist. “Maybe you’re not hearing me,” he said in a low, threatening voice. “One way or another, we’re talking to the mayor. Now.”

Beside him, Avery chuckled. “Are you sure you wanna be standin’ in our way right now, son?” He patted the colt that was hanging from his hip.

The guard shrugged his shoulders. “Look, I’m just doing my job, okay? Boss tells me to keep people out, I keep people out. Why’re you giving me a hard time, eh buddy? What did I ever do to you?”

“This is important,” Avery argued. “Some shit’s goin’ down that Hancock’ll want to know about. Now you can stand aside, or we’ll have to move you aside. Understand?”

The irritated guard was about to answer when distant shouting suddenly arose from outside. Confused, all three men turned towards the window. “What the fuck-”

An explosion echoed through the room, and the building rumbled. Abandoning their current mission, Avery and Neal bolted for the stairs, the guard following them.

*

“Move, fuckin’ move,” Avery called out, roughly shoving people out of his way. A large crowd was milling around the entrance of the settlement, and he swore as he saw what had grabbed their attention. The gate was warped, and almost completely off its hinges. Bodies were strewn around among the wreckage. Doing a quick count, he noted that seven of the townsfolk were dead, including two guards. Avery couldn’t help but also notice that they all happened to be ghouls. The rest of the corpses were people he didn’t recognize.

“Fuck,” Neal cursed as he picked up a charred piece of armor and inspected it closely. “Raiders.” He threw the leather harness he was holding to the ground. “They doing suicide runs now?” He also seemed to notice the commonality of the victims. “First us, now these innocent ghouls. Who are they really targeting?”

“Keep it down,” Avery hissed. The crowd was growing, and he could hear their panicked gossiping. A few ghouls even gave suspicious looks to the smoothskins among them. _I don’t like where this is going._

“How’d the raiders get this close? Who the fuck was on watch?” A voice called out.

Only one of the men who was assigned to the gate had survived the explosion, and he did not appreciate the questions thrown at him. “Hey, don’t blame me for this, you radfreak!”

Instantly a circle of locals surrounded him, yelling obscenities and accusations. Avery withdrew his pistol, but suddenly a booming gunshot burst through the cacophony, startling everyone into silence.

The crowd parted. “Alright.” John Hancock stood before them, shotgun in hand and Fahrenheit at his side, her smoking gun held high in the air. “Someone wanna tell me what the _fuck_ is happening in my town?”


End file.
